


One Life

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Parental Roy Mustang, Sleep Deprivation, sad fluff though, that's right i said it FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Follow up to Akarri's Prisoners of Worth. Roy, still recovering from his ordeal, can't sleep- and Ed, still recovering from his, doesn't want to.They do say misery loves company, but Roy isn't in the mood to be miserable, or to let Ed be miserable, either.





	One Life

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Prisoners of Worth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652155) by [Akarri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akarri/pseuds/Akarri). 



> One day, I will write a fic that does not star hurt Roy just for the excuse to give him a hug... one day, I will write a fic that does not throw Roy in the hospital because he never makes it out whole when I'm involved...
> 
> BUT THAT IS NOT THIS DAY...
> 
> Although actually, you can thank Akarri for this hurt Roy, because this is a follow up to her oneshot Prisoners of Worth, where SHE hurt him. And, have you read it yet? Have you read it??? First, I really hope so, because this oneshot won't make sense without it- but regardless, go read it anyway, because it's freaking AWESOME. Anyway- if you /did/ read it, but were left hurting for these poor boys and want for them to have more hugs... this is for you!
> 
> And Akarri, of course, for, after all my nagging, writing the original, longer, angstier, feelsier oneshot that this is based on :)
> 
> Happy reading!

Roy woke with a start.

A quiet, dusky twilight greeted his eyes, grey shadows that lingered around him like clouds on an overcast day. Even in soft blanket of darkness, the faintest of shadows stretched throughout his room, cast by moonlit slivers against the night sky; they formed a pattern of bars that scattered gently across him as if restraints. Iron bars, steel twine. Silver-toed boots, crushing into his breaking hands. An iron-tipped sledgehammer, clanging against the bars of his cage as it whistled heart-stoppingly near his head.

A momentary urge of panic shot through him, heart stuttering and breaths constricting to shallow nothings in his chest, each moment narrowing around him to squeeze him in one crushing tight vise of breathless, choking terror, until stability grasped him again.

It was window shades. Not bars. It was the pattern of the shades drawn over the window in his room.

Roy shut his eyes for a moment, breathing out another stuttery, shaking stammer of a breath, and forced himself to relax back down as very much as he could.

_You are okay. You are okay. You are okay..._

The tight panic crushing his chest, suffocating in the silence, at last began to recede after a few moments of quiet. He held himself still, exhausted all over again and shuddering, and listened to the faint sound of his own breaths, one after the other, one after the other, until he could think again.

_You are okay..._

Roy sighed. He pulled his knees just a little closer up to his chest, breathing again deeply into his shoulder, and spent several moments just trying to be.

Be, and not panic.

He felt a little like a worn out dish rag, squeezed over and over again until he had nothing left to give. His head and eyes, however, were weary with the weight of _sleep_ , and it took him a moment to consider just why that was- why it felt so strange. Why _he_ felt so strange.

Last he remembered, it had been early morning.

Thus far, he- had not been sleeping well.

At all.

It had been... god, the days blurred together still, a drugged, pained, oftentimes fear-glazed mess, superior officers demanding answers and worried subordinates demanding tacit reassurance and doctors demanding whatever it was doctors did... but it had been _long enough_ , now, and yet, Roy still found himself unable to sleep. He desperately wished it were otherwise, because he was _exhausted,_ and wanted so badly to close his eyes and not open them up again until his body was ready for it- but no matter how hard he tried, the instinct and fear ingrained into him just wouldn't let him do it.

So far, he hadn't managed any longer than two hours at a time.

Even that much had been a relief, in the beginning of the week. Slipping in and out of sleep, almost always to a friendly face, never shaken out of it by anything other than his own terrified instincts... it had been a precious luxury he'd never believed he'd be allowed again.

It didn't feel like that much of one now, deeper into the week, when he wanted nothing more than just the chance to sleep through the night but still was too weak to get it. Just _once,_ to shut his eyes and not open them again until well-rested, relaxed, and warm in his own bed in the morning.

Well. It still wasn't his own bed. And it wasn't morning.

It was something, though.

For several moments, Roy allowed himself to just take it in, warm and languid against the sheets and so limp with a foreign calm he almost wanted to cry. He had to have slept over twelve hours. How...? The doctors had been refusing to sedate him for some time now, saying it wasn't as good as a natural sleep, that he had to learn how to do it again on his own- but for _so long..._

Roy started to shift again, as gingerly and carefully as he could make it. The blankets dragged at him, tangled warmly between his legs as if trying to pull him back down into sleep, but as worn out as he still was, a bone deep exhaustion that ate away at him down to his soul, this was the most well-rested he'd felt in months. For the first time, he simply _wasn't tired enough_ to want to shut his eyes and go back to sleep. So he tried to turn, instead, cautiously squirming to push onto his bruised back rather than aching side, and-

Oh.

Hughes was sitting beside him.

 _Beside-_ beside him, actually. Not in one of the plastic, uncomfortable chairs settled in the room for visitors, but right up on the bed beside him, so close at least half of Roy's current warmth, he realized, was attributable to him, fighting for space and hogging pretty much all of his pillow. Not that Roy could complain, because he'd been curled so awkwardly he'd never found his pillow at all, but just... there he was. Slumped precariously half on the bed, half off, one arm thrown lazily about that made Roy think it had been on his shoulder at some point, but slipped off during the night to hang limply down, fingers just barely brushing against his head.

Roy blinked up at him in disbelief.

When... when had...?

His recollection of the past week was, admittedly, pretty hazy. If not near incoherent from lack of sleep without the faintest clue towards what time it was, then it was the heavy painkillers he both relished and chafed at blurring his mind. But in his dazed, blurry memories, Maes had become quite a dependable, reassuring constant. Roy knew he'd been busy in South City, strategizing and planning and sending orders from relative safety back at HQ, but it felt like every night he'd made an appearance, watching him with a worried smile, sometimes not even restraining himself from hugging him in a gentle yet fierce squeeze, murmuring out how scared he'd been and how glad he was to see him safe.

By the looks of him now, slouching and all but drooling in full uniform, situated in the most precarious position in the world, Roy was at last struck with the realization that he'd fallen asleep there because _Roy_ had fallen asleep there. By his position, pressed so close particularly to Roy's head... fallen asleep on his _lap._

His eyes widened.

He'd... fallen asleep in his lap.

A good twelve hours ago.

And, courtesy of a... a day long... a day long _cuddle..._ he'd stayed that way, for the very first time since his rescue.

A stricken beat passed in silence. His insides felt as if they'd been softened all the way to mush, and for one almost painfully emotional beat, Roy didn't know whether he was more embarrassed or touched.

"...Thanks, Maes," he whispered, the faintest words scratching at his dry throat and mouth, the pain unable to stop the weakest of fond smiles from turning up his lips. _I missed you, too._

Then, his face burned, miserably red and miserably hot, and he found himself slumping straight back down to the bed with a tiny whine, wanting to just shut his eyes straight back into sleep and never think about this again.

He knew the right thing to do would be to wake his best friend up. It was late at night, by the looks of things long past visiting hours- after being trapped here all day Maes was probably starving, and his back was surely sore as hell, and he was going to have a miserable day of things tomorrow even if he got up and to a proper bed right now. But it'd be a little less miserable than if Roy just let him sleep, and as much as his best friend just _bugged him_ sometimes, he certainly didn't deserve that...

But the embarrassment already warming his face at the thought of facing Maes right now was more than enough to keep him quiet.

So Roy let himself sag gently back down into his blankets again, gingerly beginning to turn onto his other side with as much care as he could manage it. Hopefully he'd slip into sleep again, or could at least fake it, and when Maes finally woke up and saw Roy turned away he'd sneak out in silence and they'd never have to actually talk about this ever again.

Settling himself back down into the warm folds of his blankets, Roy tried to both tune out the many miserable pains of his many reluctantly healing, angry injuries and mold himself back down into the bed again. He took in a long, carefully shallow breath, bruised and broken ribs grinding deep in his chest with the pain of it.

This time, it took him several long, fading seconds to realize what was wrong.

The bed next to his was empty.

Roy started- so hard, again, his injuries cried out, and nearly dragged a verbal cry out his throat with it.

Where was Ed?

After what he'd been through, part of Roy had desperately wanted nothing more than a room to himself- and, hell, that part still existed, smarting and crawling at his skin with the miserable need for privacy. But with the conflict razing through the south, South City Military Hospital was overflowing with injured patients and neither Roy's rank nor his status as _handle with kid gloves - was tortured - is a mess_ had been able to materialize a private room where one hadn't existed. All things considered, being stuck with a grumpy, twitchy teen and very often his overprotective brother had been the best he could've hoped for.

 _Especially_ when he'd owed Edward his life.

But-

But where _was he?_

His bed was empty. The sheets, tousled and mussed, the pillow, pummeled and sloppy, and the bed- _empty._

Roy would've had to crane his neck far more than his painfully bruised, burned back would let him to see the room's clock, but it was dark and quiet enough that he was sure it was after hours, now. Ed should have been in bed, barring anything but an emergency. And as heavily asleep as it seemed like he'd been, Roy was sure both he _and_ Maes would've woken up, if there'd been an emergency of any kind.

So, had he just... gotten up on his own?

Wandered off, in the middle of the night, alone?

Something uncomfortable squeezed in Roy's stomach again. This time, as his hands stung and bruises all ached and his insides just _hurt,_ the hungry pain was washed back by the shuddering memory of Ed's exhausted, blanket-shrouded form in the van next to him, not even an hour after he'd saved his life- and those familiar eyes turned shadowed, and haunted.

Put like that, he really didn't have much of a choice, now, did he?

It was painful for him to work himself upright, a miserable yet silent struggle, every inch of him hurt in some way and his hands, even after a weak of bandages and splints and rest, still capable of pathetically little more than trembling in his lap. Of almost greater concern than his own injuries was Maes, dead to the world behind him, but the moment he woke up Roy knew he would be stuck back in his hospital bed again, Maes calling a nurse or doctor in here to commence the search on their own while he stayed back with Roy to keep an eye on him. And, well, Roy _had_ missed Maes, a lot, and even now couldn't deny just how grateful he was to be able to wake up to a friendly face-

But he was really tired of being kept an eye on.

_Ed isn't their responsibility._

_He isn't Maes'._

_He's MINE._

Roy, now propped carefully upright, feet swinging loosely over the edge of the bed, and ruined hands awkwardly braced just so for him to work himself up to stand, frowned. He swung his miserable, bare feet a little more.

They'd finally taken him off the IV and other monitors last night, telling him oral painkillers could suffice, so he was at last untethered to his bed. At least... in theory. He had not been made to stand, as of yet. The bottoms of his feet were still torn and shredded, his legs aching and sore on his best of days, and he'd been kept off his feet for now by busybodies of nurses, but- but he just didn't _want_ to. His heart pounded with the mere sickening thought of it. He _did not want to._ His every instinct screamed against it, his every nerve and torn muscle pleaded _no,_ terror because he knew he couldn't keep himself on his feet this time and he knew what would happen to him when he fell.

His heart pounded again, a sickening and dizzy rush straight to his head, and if it hadn't been for Maes right behind him he would've groaned aloud. Instead he just buried his face in his bandaged, broken hands as best he could, breathing hard into the gauze and clinging tightly to the thinnest threads of stability that he still could. He didn't have time to be like this. Fullmetal was _missing._ Fullmetal was _gone._ He had to find him!

Ed's crutches, ordinarily propped gingerly up right by his bed, were missing. Roy supposed it didn't really matter all that much that they were. Crutches were for people with only one injured leg, of which he had two, and two working hands, of which he had none. Crutches were out of the question, so far out of the question they might as well have been on the next plane of existence. Walking under his own power was several dimensions removed.

His roving, still heavy eyes settled on the nearby wheelchair. His frown creased deeper.

So far, his pride had been wounded by it very little. Already, his skin itched and crawled just to look at it, a helplessness that reminded him of weeks spent in a cage and chafed at him until it hurt.

But- Ed was missing. Ed was still hurt.

Ed was only here _because of you, Roy._

Another heavy, shuddering breath later, one that stung as if he was being poked with pins and needles on the inside out, a very careful look back at his dozing best friend, and his short and exhausting stagger towards mobility had ended with a heavy gasp of relief, an even heavier gasp as his head swayed and spun with the instinct of panic- and the bolt of sharp pain straight through both of his hands as he clutched onto the wheelchair.

Success achieved.

Roy, exhausted, strained, and now shivering, finally let himself sag backwards, this time with a nearly dizzying wave of relief. Maes, behind him, kept on half-snoring.

With a fond roll of his eyes, Roy maintained the silence as carefully and absolutely as he very possibly could, and pushed his way out into the hallway.

There was no one waiting within his immediate view, but then, Roy was not too surprised by this. The hallway was out in the open, for any wandering nurses to find Ed- or Al, if he was still lurking around the hospital this time of night, or even Maes, whenever his friend woke up. Ed had almost certainly left to take a few moments to himself. He wouldn't be sitting right out for anyone and everyone to find him. With that in mind, Roy pushed himself a little more forwards with aching, trembling hands, frowned darkly to himself, and narrowed his eyes as they swept up and down the hallway.

Not that direction, back to the nurse's station. Not that direction, that circled back around to the elevators. Not there, no...

Roy sighed. With another heavy shiver, painful down to his spine, he steeled himself, and pushed his way down the only path left to him.

This time, it did not take long.

Roy found his subordinate one corner away from his room, far enough to secret them away from prying eyes, close enough that he could tell Ed had hobbled here under his own power. The crutches were settled sloppily on the floor next to him, his subordinate, his young subordinate, his _too young, god he is just a CHILD_ subordinate who sat there on the cold floor wearing nothing more than hospital pajamas and his signature red coat, shrouded heavy around him like a blanket instead of a jacket. Even with the pseudo-blanket, though, he was still shivering a little, tiny jerks that shuddered through him just enough for Roy to see, good leg pulled up close to his chest for him to rest his face against it, listless hair lank and tired around him.

Roy's heart sunk.

He looked too small, too hurt, too _young._

He looked too young to be here.

With another deep, shuddering breath, Roy coughed a little, clearing his throat. He pushed himself another inch forward, wiping his face back clean and calm as best he could, and he said, "Fullmetal."

The teen flinched backwards, curling tighter into his small blanket cocoon with a tiny start of his own. With a slight rub of his face against his knee, one that Roy was sure he wasn't supposed to have seen, he shook his head hard, working the hair out of his face that only served to reveal the faint red of his eyes, the worn fatigue etched far too deep, and looked up to him in sleepy, wide-eyed surprise. "Colonel...?"

Roy managed a somewhat fragile smile in silent greeting. His heavy, bandaged hands hurt every second of every day, and hurt even more, now, after using them to make his way over here, so he didn't even bother to raise one in a wave, instead just trying to grapple his way a little bit more forwards as he kept his gaze down on Ed. "Good evening," he said, a hoarse, somewhat pathetic sort of croak. "Mind if I join you?"

Ed just stared up at him, still huddled around himself down on the floor and shivering. His gaze lingered on Roy's feet as he started to push himself upright without waiting for an answer, managing an unsteady stagger towards the wall, but the kid didn't intercede and tell him to take it easy or rest, and for that much, at the very least, he was grateful.

"...You passed out all over Hughes this morning," Ed said at last, averting his heavy gaze away as Roy settled painfully down next to him. "I don't think I've ever seen him that happy. You know, when he's not talking about his wife or his kid..."

A heat returned to Roy's face again, the very same embarrassment from when he'd woken up to find himself half in Maes' lap. He sunk into himself, trying very hard not to groan. Yeah, his pride was eternally slaughtered. "I'll thank you not to mention that ever again, Fullmetal. ...or, remember it, please."

"What- no, I was- I didn't mean it like that!" Groaning, Ed curled back around himself, rolling his heavy eyes up to the ceiling. "It was nice, for once! Stupid bastard... I don't think Hughes even minded all that much, and he was the one getting drooled on." Despite the, again, _embarrassing_ words, however, Ed simply dropped his gaze back down again, a tired shadow crossing his face rather than the spark of life Roy was so familiar with that came from the kid's constant nagging, teasing, harassment. "Lieutenant Colonel Hughes tried to leave a few times, but you kept fidgeting around whenever he'd move... at some point he just gave in and went to sleep himself. I'm surprised you managed to get out from under him without waking him up."

Roy swallowed dryly, turning his gaze away from the kid again. Yes, he certainly could have died happy without knowing that little tidbit of the day's events. His insides squirmed at the mere thought of what _that_ all must've looked like, how worried Maes was going to be about him now, how he felt like he was getting smaller and smaller by the second...

But, Roy considered unhappily, casting a critical eye down at himself again, it wasn't as if he'd had much of his pride left to save.

Especially considering Ed had been the first one to find him.

The memory remained hazy, almost nauseating with blurred panic and pain, but it was still _there._ Ed being the one to carefully tug the twine from numb, bloody wrists. _Ed_ being the one to prop him upright with hands too gentle to belong to the brutal, powerful alchemist.. helping him drink. Helping him walk. Touching at him, with simply too much concern to bear.

Roy closed his eyes tightly, shuddering through another repulsive wave of overwhelming humiliation and sickening fear that tied his stomach tight into an agonizing knot, and for just one stricken moment, wished he'd never woken up this night at all.

"Is that why you came out here, then?" he asked quietly, when he could will his voice at least somewhat steady again. "Because you didn't want to wake either of us up?"

Ed stiffened a little again, the arms around his knee tightening as he seemed to almost shrink back down into his jacket. His tired eyes shuttered, flickering down to the floor as if he didn't have the will to look up anymore, and for just a heartbeat his sulky pout almost made him look like a child.

Almost.

"...I couldn't sleep," was all he muttered, a cold, withdrawn sort of sulk. Despite the abrasive exterior, though, prickly like steel wool, despite his every attempt to be steady and strong- his words were small, and that was all he needed to hear.

He knew that their reasons for having trouble sleeping at night, from the lingering shadows that persisted under the kid's eyes and the haunted strain that tightened in him whenever he thought nobody was looking, were far more similar than they might appear.

Roy sighed again, carefully situating himself back against the wall, drawing as close to his subordinate as he dared. Ed, unlike him, had only suffered just the one injury. But, Ed, also unlike him, was small, and missing two limbs to boot. The blood loss that he or Maes could've shrugged off had sidelined him more solidly than if he'd been hit by a truck, and even now, a hazy week later, he still looked worn out. He still looked _exhausted._

He should've been in bed, Roy considered heavily, his heart twinging with yet another pang of stomach-twisting guilt.

Saying as such to him, however, was a pretty surefire way to get Ed to shut down, tune him out, and sulk his way along out here for the entire rest of the night.

Roy leaned his head gingerly back against the wall, forcing himself as calm as he could in the lingering silence. When he sat there, still and quiet, saying nothing, he felt Ed begin to relax beside him as well, those hard walls he always had up around himself receding back down, no longer expecting a confrontation and with it, softening back against the wall. He hung his head again, knee tugged just a little closer to his chest, and lapsed back into the peaceful silence.

"It occurs to me," Roy said at last, "that I have not thanked you yet. Have I?"

Ed twitched hard, this time with a hard and prickly bristle of irritation. For all the time Roy had tried to give him to get him relaxed, his walls were already wrenched back up again with those words alone, a chilly barrier settled around him to try and shove Roy away and defend his own fragile core, all at once. "I told you," the kid snapped, eyes lit like fire to glare through the unkempt mess of hair, "I told you already, I don't regret deciding to go after you. It was the right call and I'd make it again if I had to, so- so if you're going to try and tell me I made a mistake again, you can fuck off, because I-"

"I am simply saying, Fullmetal, that you made a sacrifice for me, and I would like to tell you thank you for it. Nothing more."

But Ed just continued to glare at him, his fierce eyes narrowed and searching over him now, hunting for insincerity as if expectant for it to turn into a short joke, or some other form of teasing, or perhaps another attempt for Roy to tell him he shouldn't have done it. But Roy had not come out here tonight to fight with him, and more than that, did not want to start that argument again. Whether he agreed with Ed's choice or not, the choice was made, and Ed was here.

It wouldn't help either of them for Roy to keep trying to apologize for it.

So Ed searched him with angry, fierce eyes, curled over on himself like a tense and coiled spring, ready to fight, but when Roy gave him no purchase with which to fight _against,_ the quiet just stretching on, the fatigue finally got the best of him and the alchemist just sagged. The fight sailed straight out of him on the shuddering exhalation of a sigh, leaving his hard face to soften, the whole of him worn and fading with the own fatigue that grabbed at him so possessively, and the whole of him keeling gently over as he rested his face sullenly back against his knee. A mumbled grunt came at length, the only answer that Roy's words got at all, and then, he turned his back to shield himself once more without another word.

Turned like that, withdrawn and silent in the cold, lonely night so all Roy could really see of him was his sloppy braid, he found himself struck with the momentary, almost strangely warm urge to run his fingers through it. Roy could barely move his fingers. Roy's hands were sore and heavy and broken. Ed was a prickly, irascible hellcat on his best of days and would probably snarl at him if he tried.

Roy, his heart heavy and his bleary memories, still haunted, kept his hands to himself.

"...Ed?" he ventured gently, eyes resting still on his turned back.

A unsettled silence dragged on between them for a few moments longer, thick and somewhat uncomfortable. Roy held himself still as marble, remembering just why he was out here tonight, why they were out here sitting on the floor together at all, considering how best to go about this or if there was, indeed, anything at all that he could say to make this better.

"They were going to kill me," he said at last.

Ed stiffened a little again, twisting around at last to glare at him with those fierce, domineering eyes, so fierce it nearly hid the burst of pain in them, but Roy went on as steady as he could. "They were going to kill me. It's not a question. They..."

_A firing squad... gunfire..._

_...the blood-splattered wall..._

"T-they- almost did," he rasped out, a stuttery expanse of panic expanding in his chest, crowding out even the slick blood in his head. "The day that you found me, Ed- they nearly'd done it that morning. I think the only reason they didn't was because they weren't bored with me yet. But... it was _going_ to happen, and I couldn't stop it."

Ed flinched beside him, face torn and just impossibly _young,_ stricken eyes flickering like a switch flipped on and off, tottering between his usual brazen confidence and the quiet vulnerability he usually hid so well underneath. He looked- frightened, almost, not scared like a child, but scared like a soldier facing the unknown, and in that moment, Roy wanted nothing more than to take his face in hands and smooth it away.

"Why are you telling me this?" Ed asked finally, voice far too small on the sterile air. It took nearly everything Roy had to scrape together a fragile smile in return.

"Because, when we get out of here, you're going to have to see and do a lot of things you're going to wish you never had," he said to him quietly, watching him seriously in the shadowy darkness that clung around them. :Maybe you already have. It's going to be hard, and you're going to hate it, and no matter how quickly we end this war it's going to change you, and I'm sorry- I'm going to try, but I'm not going to be able to protect you from all of it." He gave him a wane smile again, lifting up one of his ugly, barely bandaged together hands off his lap to show it to him; the splints, the bruises, the stitches still lining his arm. "I couldn't even protect myself from it."

"You... you don't have to-"

"What I'm saying, Ed, is that when this is all over, I want you to be able to remember that you did at least save one life." He settled his hand down as gently as he could on his shoulder, both for Ed's sake and his own, hoping to give him an anchor to grasp onto even in this tumultuous night and war that he'd willingly thrown himself into to drown. "It may still not balance out as worth it in the end, to you, but you did at least save one life. There's some concrete good you accomplished, right there. I don't want you to get so lost in all the depravity and bad that's out there to forget that one something good. ...and, as much as you like to proclaim I'm such a bastard I'm a blight on the world- in everything bad that you're going to have to see and have to do- I want you to be able to focus on that." He squeezed his shoulder a little, an awkward and pained attempt with a broken hand, but god, it was _something._ "I'm alive, because you decided to be here. Thank you."

The words felt too heartfelt and sentimental, even to his own ears. Not because they weren't genuine, because they _were-_ they were as sincere and honest as he knew how to be. But, that, perhaps, was why they felt so strange to him, and why his face now felt slightly warm, and why Ed's eyes had gone big even with those bruised smudges of exhaustion underneath them and the space between them had fallen into a uncomfortable silence. Because Roy typically _wasn't_ sincere and honest like this, and certainly not to Ed, while Ed really wasn't used to hearing it-

But it was the truth. He _had_ almost died. He'd seen the blood-splattered wall and knew in his heart he was next... and, some part of him, when the guns had gone off around him, had believed he _was._

He'd since spent the week barely able to sleep, racked by nightmares when he did, in pain, on edge, and after many more weeks of much worse pain, a much steeper edge, and a terror that bit so deep into his heart he'd woken up more than once in tears. He'd been worn down until there was barely anything left and for once in his life, there wasn't enough left of him to coat the words in his usual slick, silver tongue, warm teasing, and manipulation.

It was the truth.

But- Ed was still not answering him. Ed, eyes still smudged with exhaustion, face so dreadfully pale and _young,_ and his arm so cold under Roy's, just stared at him, silent and speechless and too vulnerable to bear. He'd already seen too much, _done_ too much, just in fighting to save Roy from that hole alone, then in winding up with a gun pointed at his _face_ , watching that soldier die... for a moment, Roy wondered if he'd gone too far and shouldn't have told Ed how close he'd come to dying himself. If that should've stayed just a dark, sick secret between him and Maes or Riza, because if Ed was already struggling with what he'd had to see, then _that,_ surely, was not going to help him sleep at night, and his stomach wrenched into a knot with chilled regret that flooded through him, because Ed was _still_ not saying _anything-_

And then, with a very soft, muffled sort of whine, the boy turned closer to him, and folded into his side.

It was silent still, the quiet of the late night hospital unbroken save for the quiet, muffled _whump_ as Ed curled himself to his side. It hurt, grating at the bruises on his side and broken ribs in his chest, but it hurt worse in the deep tug at his heart in the tight, nearly frantic grip of the one arm wrapped around his neck, and then the messy warmth of his head hidden right against his shoulder.

For several moments, an impossible silence spread between them again.

Then, because Roy was still entirely too beaten down to bits until at it felt like there was left of him was bruises and scars, and that wasn't enough for him too to keep up the smooth facade he'd cling to so tightly he could taste it, he simply allowed himself a sad, grateful start of a smile again, and tightened his arm back around Ed's small shoulders.

* * *

When Maes' extraordinarily worried face finally came poking around the corner a satisfyingly long time on, the moonlit shadows of bars stretching ever shorter along the floor and day passing ever longer, Roy kept his mouth shut, and simply raised two fingers, cushioned with gauze and taped tight together, to his lips in the universal gesture for _shhh._

The investigator blinked down at them. He reeled straight to a stumbling stop, the sharp worry etched into his pale face fading away, and even from across the room the shudder in his shoulders was visible as he released a great, trembling sigh of abject relief.

Then, with one of his biggest, fondest smiles yet, warm with affection and a fear softened to calm, he met Roy's gaze. He rolled his eyes.

Roy pressed his fingers harder to his lips, narrowing his eyes right back up at him in a mock glare. _Shut up, Hughes._

Then, with a still lingering scowl, he allowed his own mild sense of irritation to fade. He looked back down at Ed.

With an unerring quiet for a man usually so sinfully _loud,_ Maes drifted forward, looming over them like a shadow in the night. For a heartbeat, something terrified and still bleeding in Roy flinched, but then the shadow was gone as Maes knelt down beside them, uniform jacket shrugged off his shoulders. He met Roy's eyes again, this time for his fond smile to slip into something closer of a smirk, and grinned right at him as he tucked the jacket around him as if it were a blanket and he was his young daughter.

This time, Roy's glare was a real one..

Even if, with his arms otherwise occupied, and his hands otherwise crushed, he never could've managed the move himself.

Even if he _was_ cold, and Maes' jacket, _was_ warm.

(Because he didn't have to look so fucking smug and _happy_ about it.)

But then, the moment had passed, and with nothing more than another affectionate grin, Maes shifted carefully around, dropping to sit perfectly silent on his other side. One arm was carefully squeezed around his shoulder, a reassuring anchor that part of him still needed so very much no matter that he could never admit it and a promise, ever without words, that he was safe, and the rest of him stayed still under his jacket, at long last covered- at long last, warm.

At long last, safe.

Ed, still blanketed halfway in his red jacket, pressed to his side, and arm curled back around him in return, snuffled gently in his sleep.

And for the first time all week, at least one of them slept through the night.

 


End file.
